


This One Fake Life

by mythicalwolfpup



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A whole lot more familiar characters are coming, AU-GTA, Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - GTA, Angst, Beating, Blood and Gore, Dark, Death, Evil, FAHC, Female Jack, Gen, Get ready for the whole crew, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hospital Horror, Hurt, Hurt Gavin, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Medical Horror, Needles, Other, Pain, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Rope Bondage, The Great Escape, The Suspense!, Vagabond Ryan Haywood, Whump, at least they have proper PPE?, drugged, penthouse raid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythicalwolfpup/pseuds/mythicalwolfpup
Summary: The usual life of the FAHC is turned upside down when one of their members is kidnapped, and their whole world starts falling apart.Gavin found himself blabbing, still on a high from the heist, bobbing next to Ryan as they walked toward the bikes.“Ew, why does it always have to be dumpsters!” Trevor exclaimed, seeing his shiny bike leaning against the filthy metal of an overflowing trash container.Gavin laughed but a sudden shot filled the calm air of the alleyway and he was shoved to the side by Ryan as another bullet whizzed by. They had no cover as the bullets kept coming, figures appearing from behind the van they had left behind them.Trevor ducked behind the loathsome dumpster for cover as bullets clanged against the metal. Ryan dragged Gavin up from where he had fallen, shooting back down the alley to give Gavin time to make it to cover.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be dark. I mean DARK. Like, please don't read if you are potentially triggered by ANY of the tags. I will update tags as I update the story.

The heist started out fairly smoothly, and Gavin grinned with glee as he jumped out of the van with Trevor and Michael. Gunfire whipped around them, ricocheting off the metal exterior of the facility. 

“Front is covered!” Geoff yelled over the comms and sounds of Lindsay and Fredo quipping jokes back and forth while they laid down cover with Geoff sounded distantly. 

There was a distant scream and then Ryan calmly announced the parking garage was clear. “Oh wait, there’s another one,” Ryan corrected, and Vagabond laughter filled the comms for a second. 

Gavin, Trevor and Michael raced around the corner of the building to the access door closest to the control room. Michael attached a small charge to the door, and they stepped back, hunching away and covering their ears as the door blew. 

“Woo!” Trevor pumped his hands in the air. 

“Don’t celebrate yet, we just got in.” Michael’s sarcastic tone has his typical chuckle underneath it as they slunk through the doorway. Broken safety glass crunched under their feet and the stairwell opened up to their right. 

“Okay guys,” Jeremy directed over the comms, “go up two floors. There might be guys coming down the stairs and I can’t cover you from here.” Jeremy was on a building across the street in a sniper’s perch as per the plan. The trio followed Jeremy’s directions, guns at the ready in case anyone came toward them. 

The facility was swarming with guards, consistent with their intel. Luckily, they were cheap guns, nothing like the brutal private-hire mercenaries the fakes had fought previously. A figure appeared above them and a quick firefight ended with a bullet through his head. Trevor brought up the rear, head on a swivel to make sure no baddies were following them. 

Gavin liked working with the B team on heists. Usually they kept the big ones for the main team, but on days like these with Jack still recovering from a bullet to the leg back at their penthouse, the B team always pulled through. 

Matt’s voice crackled in over the comms. “Bravo One here. Just picked up the ‘copter. Heading west. Bravo Three is on the big guns.”

“Hell yeah I am!” Fiona’s voice soared clearly through the distant static. “We’ll keep the pigs distracted as long as we can!”

Gavin shot the next shape that appeared above them. “Got ‘im!” 

“Rimmy, we’re on the floor.” Michael led the way out of the stairwell into a long hallway. Sound of gunfire from out front was much clearer now. The windows stretching the length of the hall to their left were half shattered and bodies that Jeremy had already taken out with the rifle littered the floor. The wall on the left had locked doors all the way down. 

“Third door!” Jeremy announced. “There are probably baddies back there too!” Michael set another charge on the door and they huddled as it blew dust into the corridor with a loud bang. The door hung crooked on its frame and bullets started flying. Gavin followed Michael into the fray, Trevor bringing up the rear, all firing at any person they could see. Sparks flew from the computers around the room as bullets struck them. When all the figures were down Gavin continued forward to the door at the back of the room leading to the main console computer. The door was unlocked, and he sat at the screen as Michael and Trevor kept watch. 

“Status!” Geoff yelled as the gun firing stopped. 

“Good!” Linday and Fredo almost yelled in sync. “Man, I thought there would be more of them,” Fredo laughed. 

“I’ve almost got all the charges set down here,” Ryan said from the underground garage. “Just two more and it’s ready for Mogar’s magic.” 

“Yeah baby!” Michael yelled while Trevor said “ew, do we have to call it that?” 

“Golden and Rimmy?” Geoff asked. 

“I think we killed all of them,” Jeremy chuckled from his perch. “I literally can’t see any movement.” 

“Just downloading the software now, boss!” Gavin chirped while typing frantically. He paused to shove a USB into the computer. 

“Bravo One? Three?” Geoff called. 

There was a lull before the comms crackled to life. “Fine, little busy here,” Matt grumbled, and Fiona whooped in the background. “We definitely have police attention.” 

“Bravo Two is also fine,” Trevor said, “in case you were wondering.” Gavin snickered

“Good job crew. We might actually make a clean getaway this time.” 

“Don’t jinx it, Eagle One!” Lindsay pretended to scold Geoff as Gavin finished up the download. 

Michael joined in: “Yeah Eagle King, you just had to say it. I don’t need that kind of karma in my life.” 

Ryan’s low voice softly chuckled “You’ve spelled our doom. Last charge in place. Heading back to the van now.”

“I’m heading down with the trigger!” Michael announced before ducking out of the destroyed computer room. 

Gavin retrieved his USB and plugged another in, quickly uploading a virus to their back-up storage. He tapped restlessly on the desktop while the little pixelated line filled up to 100%. “Done!” he yelled, grabbing his gun from its place on the table and following Trevor out of the room. He couldn’t help tripping over a couple splayed limbs on the way and wailed for Trevor to wait up for him. 

The silence was almost eerie. Usually at this time they had at least a couple cop cars shooting out front. Gavin smiled gleefully as they charged down the stairs, exiting the way they came. Luck was really on their side today. 

“Ready to blow!” Michael announced over the comms. “Timer set to 30 seconds!”

“Start it! Let’s get out of here!” Geoff announced. 

Gavin and Trevor ducked into the back of the van and closed the door. Ryan floored it and they raced away from their latest project, grins on all their faces. At least Gavin figured Ryan had a smile on his face. His blue eyes glinted behind his usual Vagabond mask and he had blood all over his arms. 

“Bravo One, lose your tail and disappear!” Geoff called over the comms followed by a tense “Got it!” from Matt. 

A loud crash sounded in the distance and Michael laughed maniacally before turning off his comms. 

Gavin couldn’t stop sliding in the open back of the van as they took a turn too quickly. “Vag!” he cried. “I thought we didn’t want to police on our tail!” Ryan flipped him off without turning from the road, but he did slow down a little. 

They sped through the streets, turning quickly into a waiting alley. 

Their secondary getaway vehicles were hidden behind a row of dumpsters which were in turn cocooned by a chain-link fence. The fence extended from the wall of one of the workhouses and then turned and ran with the alley, letting just enough room for a compact car to squeeze through if they didn’t care about their mirrors. It was a great slipknot in a police chase. 

They abandoned the van parked haphazardly and Gavin followed Ryan to the right of the fence, while Trevor separated, walking to the left. His bike was parked on the other side of the chain-link fence from theirs since they planned to leave from opposite sides of the alley. 

Gavin found himself blabbing, still on a high from the heist, bobbing next to Ryan as they walked toward the bikes. 

“Ew, why does it always have to be dumpsters!” Trevor exclaimed, seeing his shiny bike leaning against the filthy metal of an overflowing trash container. 

Gavin laughed but a sudden shot filled the calm air of the alleyway and he was shoved to the side by Ryan as another bullet whizzed by. They had no cover as the bullets kept coming, figures appearing from behind the van they had left behind them. 

Trevor ducked behind the loathsome dumpster for cover as bullets clanged against the metal. Ryan dragged Gavin up from where he had fallen, shooting back down the alley to give Gavin time to make it to cover. 

Gavin raced as fast as he could to the end of the fence, planning to duck behind the last dumpster in the little alcove near the end of the alley. Before he got there, he felt a punch to his back on the right side, and the force flung him to the ground. He didn’t feel the pain as he scrambled, desperately holding onto his gun as he crawled to relative safety. He sat his back to the fence, and peered around the dumpster blocking his view, holding up his gun to give cover fire for Ryan. 

His gun seemed too heavy. His chest felt tight and he coughed, but when he coughed blood filled his mouth, rolling down his lip and into his beard as he tried to catch his breath. He knew he had been shot. Who were those guys? Where had they come from? 

Ryan appeared at his side and he heard Trevor’s gun firing. He coughed another round of blood into his mouth and reached for his teammate. Pain lanced up him and he couldn’t help the pained groan from slipping out on his exhale. 

“We’re in trouble!” Ryan called over the comms. “We’re taking heavy fire! Gavin’s been hit!” Geoff’s stuttering voice on the other end matched Gavin’s own astonishment that Ryan of all of them had slipped up on the code names over the comms. 

“Wha—where are—what do you need?” Geoff’s voice was confident but worried. 

Trevor rattled off the location of the alley as Ryan fired at the approaching men. They were getting close to Trevor’s position. 

Gavin hauled in another painful breath and crawled toward the bike, leaving his gun on the ground. He couldn’t hold it and they had to get away.  
Trevor was dodging around dumpsters as Ryan lay down cover fire, moving toward them and away from the line of men. There seemed to be more of them than before and every one that fell seemed to be replaced by another. Trevor stopped, crouched behind the fence separating them, sheltering from the bullets behind the closest dumpster to them. He was close enough to touch and Gavin could see the shock and uncertainty in his face, even as he turned to give another volley to the enemy. 

Ryan grabbed Gavin, hauling him onto the bike. Gavin did his best not to puke from the pain and he temporarily blacked out, leaning forward against the handlebars while the world swam. “Hold on!” Ryan ordered, his voice tense. That was wrong. Ryan’s voice was usually disturbingly joyful during a firefight. 

Gavin turned to look at Trevor and saw him looking up at the height of the fence. Whatever jackass had built this alley had made the fence at least fifteen feet high. The men were at the open end of what was essentially now a cage of dumpsters, and Trevor was caught at the end of it like a fish in a net. Or a fish in a barrel. The fence was too high to climb; Gavin could see that even with his vision going hazy. 

“Get him outta here,” Trevor said, glancing at Gavin and then at Ryan. His voice held an edge of urgency uncharacteristic for the lad. 

“I’m going to lay down cover fire!” Ryan snapped back, checking on the progress of the group of men walking toward them. 

“No!” Trevor commanded. “You have to get him to safety!” His eyes held a pleading in them. Gavin’s world turn woozy, his head light and he would have fallen off the bike if Ryan hadn’t been holding him there. 

“I—I c-can’t—” Ryan stuttered in unusual hesitation. 

“Leave me!” Trevor yelled. “Go!” He turned and started firing, screaming rage at the approaching men. 

Ryan did as he was told, starting up the bike and turning out of the alley almost in the same second. One of his hands held pressure on Gavin’s wound while the other steered them recklessly away through the streets, gunfire echoing behind them. 

Gavin’s comm still chatted sporadically in his ear as he dipped in and out of consciousness.  
“Ryan, get Gold to the beach safehouse!” That was Lindsay. She was the best doctor besides Jack and Geoff among them. Pain stabbed up his side and back, pulsing in his chest as he dragged another breath in.  
“V, what the hell is happening!” Geoff was saying.  
“I had to leave Trevor behind. They got him.” Ryan’s voice was strangely level and higher than usual.  
“What? Who are you talking about? Who’s shooting at you?” Geoff cried. “I’m on my way to the safehouse. You left Bravo Two?”

“I couldn’t save them both,” Ryan answered, he still sounded weird and. “It’s bad, it’s really bad.” 

Gavin let the sleep take him, feeling as though he was falling down into the largest pillow ever, the pain following him relentlessly through the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan POV as he rushes Gavin to safety after the firefight, leaving Trevor behind. Much angst, very sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - blood and gore, panic attack/anxiety

Ryan arrived at the safehouse and dragged a limp Gavin off the bike. His blood was warm, too warm, not like the blood of his victims. Gavin had been hurt before, badly even, but this was the first time Ryan felt so responsible for it. He should have been paying attention. If he had been properly paying attention, then he would have noticed the gang coming up from behind. Frustrated tears were leaking under his mask, his breathing tight and heavy as he listened desperately for Gavin’s next rasping breath. 

Gavin wasn’t heavy, but he was a dead weight in Ryan’s arms as he ran up to the porch of the beach house, the screen door already propped open. Lindsay appeared suddenly, directing him to a small cot in the front room. First aid supplies were set out across all available surfaces; even the portable x-ray machine and spare lead vest was in the corner. 

Ryan set the lad down on the cot and was pushed back as Lindsay checked the wound, cutting Gavin’s shirt off with an impatient precision before applying pressure. Ryan could see the exit wound in Gavin’s right abdomen, the one he had tried to keep pressure on during the bike ride, seemingly too large and red to fit on his torso. Lindsay turned Gavin to find the entrance wound, under his right shoulder blade but near his side. 

Lindsay called for Geoff’s help and suddenly the Kingpin was there, surgical gloves on his hands, ready to assist. Ryan stepped backward, feeling like he was in the way. He tried to pull the Vagabond identity back up to stabilize his feelings, but he was unable to. He hadn’t been able to hide his feelings behind his alter ego the entire bike ride, not while Trevor’s scared face was seared into his brain. It was too much like what had happened to Ray. 

‘Leave me’ Trevor’s command rattled around Ryan’s head and he felt suddenly claustrophobic, turning and pushing into the house, going down to the basement where the weapons store and boxing equipment was. The mask was suddenly stifling, too hot and confining in a way it had never been before. Ryan ripped the mask off and threw it across the floor, staring after it uncomprehendingly. The mask had always been a place of respite, a place of security. Why was it now turning on him? 

He ran his hands through his painted hair, crouching against the cool brick of the wall. The tears fell anyway. How long ago had he cried? When Ray left, maybe? He hid his feelings just like he hid behind the mask. He fought back a panic attack threatening to send him into hysterics, inhaling for 8, holding and then exhaling for an 8 count as well. 

Michael arrived upstairs, yelling at no one in particular before Geoff told him to get out of the way. The rest of the B team arrived a little later, more footsteps stepping through the entryway above where Ryan hid. Geoff was on speaker with Jack, explaining the situation. 

Ryan’s panic lowered and was replaced with a more familiar feeling; rage. He was angry at himself for being too lax with security after the heist. He was angry that Gavin was shot, and Trevor was— well, they didn’t know what had happened to Trevor. He was furious with the people who had thought they could mess with the Fakes. Not too long ago he had been a mercenary assassin for sale, and now he had a home. The home was being threatened along with everyone in it and he wasn’t just going to sit by in some damp basement crying about it!

Ryan retrieved the mask from the corner, slipping it back over his head. He grabbed a gun and ammo, double checking the knives on him were still in their sheathes before returning upstairs. He wordlessly stood at the entryway to the room where Lindsay and Geoff were still working on Gavin, and blood seemed to paint the bed. They both looked tired but determined. Gavin was hooked up to a monitor now with a small screen which continuously emitted beeping consistent with his heartrate. A bag of blood hung above the bed where Gavin lay motionless. 

Geoff saw him looking. “He’s stable, V. You got him here in time. We’re just closing now, but the lad was lucky.” 

Ryan nodded and shifted the gun in his hands, heading for the door. No one else was around and he wondered absently where they went. He mounted his bike and took off, retracing his mad dash from earlier. There was blood on the handlebars and down the side of the motor. He lengthened his breathing, and felt the Vagabond alter ego back in its rightful place. They were going to pay. 

The alley was both closer and farther away than it had seemed while driving with a woozy Gavin to hold up. The entryway seemed narrower than it had ever appeared before; the darkness between the buildings that always seemed so welcoming now seemed cold. Ryan left his bike and stalked into the darkness. Nobody was there, he checked even after having circled the block a couple times. The dumpsters were still overflowing with trash. Their van from the heist was gone along with all the bodies they had dropped while trying to fight their way out of the ambush. Smears of blood still dappled the ground, showing a Pollock painting of Los Santos gang crime. 

Trevor’s bike was crushed on its side, the paint badly scratched and dented. Ryan checked his surroundings again before continuing into the fence trap that had claimed Trevor, going to where he had last seen him. There was blood there, though not enough for a lethal hit. Ryan sighed, tilting his head. At least they hadn’t killed him here. But why take him to a secondary location to kill him? 

Unless they weren’t going to kill him yet. The fakes collectively had a lot of assets in Los Santos, a lot of money put away, and a lot of contacts. But no one before had tried to take any of that away from the most powerful and well-known gang of LS, not for a long time anyway. 

The Vagabond thought absently that people would probably kill for some of the secrets the fakes kept. Ryan closed his eyes momentarily, thinking of Gavin and then again of Trevor. The next question was, who would dare move this daringly against the fakes?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...poor Trevor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-torture, bindings, threats

Trevor struggled again, useless against the ropes binding him to the chair. He didn’t have much experience getting out of bonds and he cursed himself for turning down any former opportunities which could have been helpful. The fakes were always teaching them new things; if he paid attention, he might be able to get away right now. 

The cut above his eyebrow from the pistol-whip was stinging but had finally stopped dripping blood down his face and neck. His hands were almost numb from how tight they were tied to the arms of the chair, his ankles held at awkward angles as they were pulled against the chair legs. “Damn” he whispered to himself for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. 

For one, he couldn’t believe he had been caught. It was really embarrassing actually. He had looked up to the Fakes for so long, trying to be a part of the club, part of the team, and now here he was, a liability. 

‘Will they come rescue me? Will they even look?’ Trevor wondered, a deep fear stirring in his gut before he pushed it away. ‘They’ll come!’ he consoled himself. The soft thump of his heartbeat and worn-off adrenaline filled small room. Trevor shivered slightly in the damp cold, feeling very much alone. “They’ll find me,” he whispered. 

Another voice shocked the relative silence of the room. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Trevor whipped his head around to see a thin man leaning against the doorway into the cellar. He was dressed in business casual, with a dark blazer covering a white undershirt. His peppered hair gave away his age, and he held himself with an air of comfort and confidence at odds with the room around them. 

As the man walked forward, Trevor saw that his eyes were black, as if he had no iris. Trevor’s cramped neck released slightly as the man walked around to the front of the chair. Trevor clenched his jaw, apprehension stirring in his gut. He called on the skills Jeremy had taught him; how to hold a neutral expression, regulate his breathing, maybe even get off a believable lie. 

“Just one second, the team is running a little behind,” the man said mildly, checking his watch, and pacing slowly around the room. Trevor tracked the pacing with his eyes, his heart leaping anxiously in his chest as the silence pressed around them. 

After a minute there was a scuffle of footsteps and movement behind him and Trevor once again craned his neck to see a small group enter the room. “Ah!” The thin man greeted. “Just in time, I was beginning to wonder.” One of the men carried a large bag over his shoulder which clanked as he walked. 

The group appeared mission-oriented, one of them shifting a small rolling table from the corner until it was next to Trevor’s chair, another pulling a set of keys to unlock cabinets on the wall while the third went to whisper to the thin man. Trevor tried to catch what they were saying but was distracted when the cabinets opened to reveal an expansive collection of . . . instruments. Knives glittered, displayed almost lovingly, hanging in long rows. A series of hammers hung below them. The next cabinet had another collection of what looked like every pair of scissors, snips, or shears that had ever existed. 

Trevor couldn’t help as he swallowed nervously and felt the blood rush away from his face. So that’s how it was going to be. Torture. God, he hoped the Fakes were coming for him. 

The men stopped whispering and the thin man smiled “Excellent. Well done.” He walked forward until he was towering over Trevor. He stared down at him with the hint to a smile as the others stilled around the edge of the room. Trevor didn’t know where to look, and he struggled to hide his fear and apprehension from entering his face. 

The man’s dark eyes contrasted so much with his hair, he looked like a demon. ‘Mr. Demon, sir. Mr. Dick Demon. Mr. Skinny D.’ Trevor’s mind was flopping around in the silence as the man continued staring. 

“Well, well, well,” thin Demon man finally broke the silence. “A member of the Fake AH Crew, in the flesh.” 

“A member of who?” Trevor asked, in what he hoped was an innocent voice. The slap shocked him, jerking his head forcefully to the side. He blinked his eyes as his cheek stung. He steeled himself, getting ready for more. 

“Don’t play games, Mr. Collins. We know who you are and who you run with.” The man was sneering at him. “You’ll only make this harder on yourself.” 

Trevor stared up at him, almost defiantly, but his fear stopped him from being overtly antagonistic. “Who are you people?” he asked, willing his voice to stay level. 

The man leaned down toward him, putting his cold hands on Trevor’s arms as he leaned into his face. “I ask the questions here. You give me the answers. If you refuse to give me the answers I need, well…” he trailed off, a gleam entering into his eyes, “we can be very convincing”. His breath smelled like tobacco, bitter and old. Trevor couldn’t help his grimace.

Mr. Skinny D, as Trevor had decided to refer to him, backed away from the chair, turning his back on his captive. Trevor pulled subtly against the bonds again, but the rope just cut deeper into his arms and chest. 

“I want to know everything you can tell me about the Fakes. I want real names, aliases, safe houses, undeclared assets, allies, bank accounts!” the thin man’s voice rose, filling the small room and he turned back toward Trevor. “I want everything” he snarled. 

‘He wants to take them down. He actually wants to take down the FAHC!’ Trevor’s whirled.   
“Uh, you’ve got the wrong guy for-for all th-that,” Trevor managed. “I’m not even part of the main crew, I don’t know anything about them.” 

“I think you know more than you’re letting on,” the man answered derisively. 

“I-I really don’t-”

Mr. Skinny cut him off, swiping his hand through the air. “Let’s cut to the chase! We’ll start easy. What is the Kingpin’s real name?” 

Trevor froze, biting the inside of his cheek. 

There was a silence before Mr. Skinny D laughed lightly. “Ooh, I guess we’ll have to give you a taste of what happens when you don’t answer my questions.” He gestured to the man by the cabinets turned to the tools before picking up a small hammer. 

Trevor watched with trepidation as the man walked causally toward him and couldn’t help pulling at his bindings again as the man approached. The man was well built, with big shoulders, and looked like he could do real damage with any of the weapons in the room. He held the hammer as if it were an extension of his arm, the same way the Vagabond would hold his knives. 

The hammer man brushed his hand down Trevor’s arm, from the end of his sleeve all the way to where his hand was clenched into a fist, placing his hand over Trevor’s and grabbing his pinky. 

Trevor tried to fight, to pull his finger back into his fist, but the man pulled so hard his finger felt like it was going to break; even when he stopped fighting his finger was pressed into the wood of the chair arm so hard he struggled to not gasp. His heart was in his throat, his sweat too cold on his skin and his breaths seemed not to bring in enough air to his lungs. 

Hammer man raised his tool high in the air leaning his shoulder to block Trevor’s vision as he brought the hammer down. * Thud * The noise was sickening, and there was a full moment before the pain spiked through his body. 

He felt sick, the pain twisting and his whole arm shook as the man walked away. Trevor gritted his teeth against his groan as the pain kept building. The hammer had hit right over his pinky’s fingernail and he could see his fingertip growing in size. The nail was oozing blood and the skin was mottled purple and white. 

‘Breathe,’ Trevor reminded himself, recalling Ryan’s instructions from when he had broken his nose. ‘You breathe through pain. Holding your breath makes it worse.’ He took deep breaths in and felt a new line of sweat break out on his forehead and across the bridge of his nose. 

Hammer went to stand by Skinny D, who waited a moment to speak, a calm expression on his face. “I hope that’s all the incentive you’ll need.” 

Trevor glared up at him, the pain from his hand making it hard to think clearly. His determination settled in his mind; he wasn’t going to give anything up freely. They were going to have to break him if they wanted anything. 

Trevor remembered what Ryan had told him: ‘You can break anyone. It doesn’t matter who it is. Some people just take a little longer than others.’ So, they were going to break him. He just hoped he could hold out until the Fakes came for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and a comment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worried Jack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy with finals, thanks for sticking with it!
> 
> TW - i don't think there are any, let me know in the comments if I should add something

Jack limped across the floor of the penthouse, thoroughly ignoring the doctor-recommended cane which leaned against the counter as she paced. Down around the couches, back almost to the elevator, around and through the kitchen yet again. Her leg throbbed and she cursed and sucked her breath in for the umpteenth time. 

The elevator dinged while she limped around the couches and there was Geoff, watching her with his sad eyes. She picked up her pace slightly, stalking unevenly toward the kitchen. 

“Jack-” Geoff trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say. She could tell by the way he held himself that he wanted to calm her, reassure her maybe. 

“Geoff,” she acknowledged, bristling slightly at his pleading face. 

The silence between them felt wrong. Jack was usually the one calming Geoff down, calming everyone down and holding them all together. She felt useless, and slow. 

“Uh,” Geoff cleared his throat, crossing slowly to the couch, where he sat, his eyes not leaving her as she continued wearing a path in the floor. “Gavin’s doing much better. He’s got his color back and Lindsay’s got him on some good painkillers.” 

Jack nodded, one of her worries lifting slightly off her mind, though her mind still whirled behind her furrowed brow. 

Geoff caught her hand as she passed by and she came to a stop finally. He didn’t offer her any reassurances; he had learned long ago that she was a realist at her core. She looked over at his face and he met her hug halfway. She cried silently and he rested his hand in her hair, holding her head to his shoulder. 

After a minute or two she pulled back, turning to grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table. She blew her nose loudly, then reluctantly grabbed the cane again. “I wish I had been there; I wish my leg weren’t fucking…” she gestured at her bandages in frustration. 

“I know,” Geoff said, leaning against the arm of the couch again. 

“…a-and Gavin getting shot-m” 

“I know,” Geoff repeated. His face was sad, the kind of sad empathy she loved about him. 

“One of my boys is still out there!” Jack’s voice cracked and she looked at the ceiling when her eyes threatened to overflow again. 

“I know,” Geoff said again. “You know we won’t stop until we find him.” 

She nodded, sighing. “I just wish I was out there breaking kneecaps with the others.” 

Geoff nodded and they sat in silence for a bit. Jack was the first to move, wiping her face decidedly before getting up and walking with her cane toward the kitchen. “I’m making lasagna, make sure the others remember to come home to eat. They need to remember they’re all human.” 

“I’ll drag them home if it’s the death of me.” 

Jack turned at the corner of the kitchen island. “Thank you hun. For everything.” 

Geoff smiled and waved as he headed for his office. She heard him on his phone before he closed the door, getting updates from Michael from the search. She was hopeful, although the cynical part of her brain begged her not to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- please leave kudos and a comment -


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor meets the man behind his capture...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - beating, torture, bondage, kidnapped

Trevor was lasting longer than he had thought possible. It helped that as time ticked by Skinny D lost his initial intimidating aura. It also helped that they didn’t seem to understand how much roughhousing the Fakes did in their off time. 

“I’m going to ask again, give me the real name of any of your crew! Mogar: What’s his real name?” 

“Uh…Pretty sure he’s baptized as Mogar the Terrible,” Trevor quipped, grunting as Hammer Man hit him on his blackening shoulder. “Non-denominationally of course,” Trevor corrected. 

He grunted again as Hammer Man struck his target. “Dude! You gotta go only for the shoulder? Don’t want to change it up a bit?” 

Trevor heard one of the four leave through the door behind him and the other one looked uncomfortable in the corner. Skinny D pinched the bridge of his nose, waving his hand at Hammer Man to continue. Trevor hissed as the hammer hit him in the chest with enough force to make him cough. “Wow! You took my advice! Nice peck shot!” Hammer Man set up again, bringing his arm back before bringing the hammer thundering into Trevor’s chest. Trevor felt his ribs quake and it took a second before he could breathe again. He nodded at Hammer Man, “Nice shot, dude!” 

Mentally, Trevor was ramping himself up for things to get worse. He knew there were only really two options ahead of him: he would either get rescued by the crew, or he was going to die. Dying wasn’t something he was adamantly opposed to; you couldn’t live the life of the Fakes without knowing the potential for death at every corner. 

He wheezed as the hammer smashed into his side and felt one of his ribs pop. He nodded, still not having caught his breath. He heard the door behind them open and Skinny D motioned for Hammer Man to chill out a minute. 

Someone new was in the room, bringing the smell of sweat and cologne. The atmosphere shifted, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped. Oh, so this was the boss. 

The man who walked into view was well-built and tall, exuding a guise of self-assurance that was lacking in Skinny D. He reminded Trevor of the movies, a popular actor playing the tough army guy mentor. His hair was long like Matt’s but swept back over his head. His nose looked like it had been broken several times and his eyes were piercing. He wore a leather jacket unzipped, and Trevor spotted the badge glinting at his hip. A pig? Lieutenant pig maybe? His mind raced. 

The room was silent for a moment before the newcomer glanced down at where Skinny D was dwarfed next to him. “He talk yet?” Skinny D sighed and shook his head. The man nodded, somehow frowning and sneering at the same time. “That’s what we get for hiring fucking mercs,” he muttered. 

Skinny D bristled, “If you wanted him to talk, you coulda given us some more time, man!” 

The new guy pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, grumbling as he counted out hundreds. He pushed a stack into Skinny D who counted quickly. “Dude, this is half what you promised!” 

New guy seeming unconcerned facing Skinny’s anger. “Half for catching one of the Fakes, half for getting the information. You only delivered 50%. You can do that math, right?” Skinny D sulked, backing down. “Get out of here!” 

The three mercenaries left silently, and Trevor could hear their voices rise out in the hall, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying before the door shut. Alone with the pig, Trevor sized up his new adversary. The silence was making him uneasy, although he took advantage of the respite and caught his breath. One of his ribs was definitely broken, adding to the pain of his smashed finger and the bruises. It was no worse than one of the training scuffles with the crew when Vagabond was involved. 

“What’s your name?” the new guy asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and sticking one in his mouth. 

Trevor ignored the question: “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Gerard Butler?”   
The guy clicked his lighter impatiently before getting a flame and lighting the cig. 

“The other guys knew my name; you could go ask them.” The Gerard Butler look-alike sneered down at Trevor, blowing smoke over him. 

“OK,” the Gerard guy muttered to himself. He chuckled low before suddenly turning and slamming his hands onto Trevor’s arms tied to the chair. His face thundered with a rage Trevor hadn’t seen before, adrenaline kicking in his stomach. Trevor didn’t know where to look with the guys face inches from his own. 

“I’M NOT HERE TO PLAY GAMES.” The words spat out forcefully and spittle hit Trevor. “I’LL TELL YOU HOW THINGS ARE GOING TO GO FROM NOW ON. YOU ARE GOING TO ANSWER BY QUESTIONS. IF YOU DON’T ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, I AM GOING TO HURT YOU IN WAYS YOU COULD NEVER IMAGINE.” 

The hands on his arms were heavy and hot, crushing his arms even more painfully than the ropes. The silence in the room was oppressive, and the man’s stare scared Trevor more than Mogar’s crazy ‘I’m going to explode something’ face. 

Gerard released his hold on Trevor’s arms just as suddenly, pushing back to standing and taking another drag from his cigarette. 

The silence was too much and Trevor spat out the first thought in his head: “So, were you going to ask something or…”

Gerard did not seem amused. In a motion Trevor almost didn’t catch the man was on him, punching his face repeatedly. 

Left hook—right hook—left hook—the right again—two lefts in a row—. Stars swam and Trevor felt his eyebrow start bleeding again.

Gerard pulled back, picking up his nearly spent cig from the floor while Trevor reeled from the beating. His teeth felt loose and he checked with his tongue to find one was chipped. He spat, coughing; the broken tooth and bloody saliva flew from between his lips. 

Gerard regarded him with a cool expression before taking a step forward and pressing his still-lit cigarette into the back of Trevor’s bound hand. Trevor winced at the burn. The cigarette puffed out and Gerard returned the butt to the ground. He leaned uncomfortably close to Trevor’s ear. “When I come back, you will drop the act, or prepare for a hell you never knew existed.” Trevor tried not to pull away but was unprepared as Gerard’s hand reached up to smack him in the cheek. 

The man pulled away, chuckling darkly. “Don’t sleep. It’ll make my job easier that way.” He strolled out of Trevor’s sight and the door opened and then closed, the sound of a lock clicking echoing in the new silence. 

A rare kind of peace existed as Trevor went through his injuries, mentally cataloguing how his body was doing. He was beat up, but nothing had happened so far that was unrecoverable. He hoped the Fakes were on their way. Gerard’s confidence that he would still be here the next however-long lowered his confidence a little. The pigs never captured people. Sure, they would arrest them if they ever got their hands on them. Trevor had spent quite a lot of time in and out of juvie after running away at fourteen before being picked up by the Fakes. 

In all these years though, Trevor had never heard of a detective holding people hostage and torturing them for information. Or hiring mercs. The pigs were crooked, sure, but they had always seemed more like the shoot-to-kill kind of crooked, or the be-paid-off kind of crooked. This was new. 

Trevor rested his head uncomfortably against the back of the chair. He knew he had to get some rest somehow, though the pain and the cold were going to be hard to deal with. Without sleep, his defenses would be lower. 

He closed his eyes, picturing the rest of the crew; Ryan, without his mask or face paint, Michael chasing Gavin around the room, Lindsay and Jeremy riffing off each other while playing games; the looks between Geoff and Jack they thought no one could see; Fiona and Matt’s laughter; Fredo’s smile as he won the latest fight…

He was going to protect them as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -kudos and comments keep me writing-


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff gets a call from Burnie...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - uh, crime mention? gang mention?   
> tbh its just a phone convo, I promise more interest/horror coming up

Geoff rubbed the bridge of his nose, headache pounding gently behind his eyes. 

“You all right, Geoff?” Matt asked, sounding tired and worried. Geoff looked back to the screens in front of them showing different camera feeds from across the city. 

“People don’t just disappear,” he answered, his tone frustrated. “They don’t appear from nowhere, and then just disappear in-into thin air.” 

“Um,” Matt seemed at a loss for words. “When Gavin’s awake, he can get into his system. It’s better than mine, and—” He trailed off, realizing from Geoff’s face he was repeating himself. “I’m sorry, Geoff. I’ll keep searching.” 

Geoff nodded, standing up from the chair, feeling the need to do something. Geoff’s phone rang as he left Matt’s small tech room, and he pulled it out. The light of the screen reminded him of the ungodly hour they were all awake at, the caller id made him pause. 

Los Santos was known for its criminal underbelly. It was a part of the city, as if it existed in the very concrete and steel making up its maze of buildings. Crime seeped into the heart of everyone it touched. Everyone was crooked: the police, the politicians--hell, even the mailman. So why in the fuck was Burnie calling him at 3:45 AM in the middle of the week? 

Geoff answered the call after two rings, pausing in the office hall. “Burnie,” he acknowledged, waiting for the other to respond. 

“Geoff, hey. I just heard what happened. I would have called sooner but my plane just landed.” Burnie’s voice was calm and friendly, but Geoff kept his defenses up. He wasn’t the leader of the toughest gang in Los Santos without being suspicious of even those he considered allies. Burnie was one of the partners in a huge local corporation, Rooster Co., the headquarters of which were a couple blocks from the penthouse. Burnie’s pockets ran deep, and he his partners always had an agenda. 

“What have you heard?” Geoff kept his tone neutral, trying to gain information. To his knowledge none of his team had contacted them, so how was the information spreading?

“I know Gavin was shot,” Burnie replied, “And I know one of your people is missing.” His voice sounded sincerely worried. Gavin had done some work on the Rooster Co. IT system to protect it from hacking not so long ago, a job strangely safe given the violent history of the Fakes, but Burnie had paid good money for it. 

Burnie continued after a breath, “I want you to know that if I hear anything, anything at all about your man, I’ll let you know. It’s Trevor, right?”

Geoff frowned. “Yeah, how do you know his name?” 

“We like to keep an eye on people who are of interest to us,” Burnie responded, “The Fakes are a dominating presence in LS and so we keep tabs on you.”

Geoff opened his mouth to say something, but Burnie cut him off. “I know you usually go through the motions of being suspicious right now, but I don’t want to waste your time. I’m not calling just to check up on you. I have a business deal for you.” 

“We aren’t a business,” Geoff responded curtly. 

“Hear me out,” Burnie continued. “The other partners and I agree that the Fakes have had a positive effect on the stability of this city. You’ve thoroughly cowed the other gangs into not disrupting the territory you’ve…acquired. It’s quite impressive.” 

“What’s your point?” Geoff asked, leaning against the nearest wall. 

Burnie chuckled on the other end, apparently amused by Geoff’s brusque nature. “Your team operates more effectively than any other in the city. You are, essentially, the policing force in Los Santos. We’ve seen the impact of your heists, and how you only ever seem to hit places which have gained their money through other illegal means. And sure, you’re not unknown for civilian casualties, but there aren’t gang shootouts on every corner in downtown anymore, not since the Fakes rose to power.”

Geoff considered what he was saying. It was true. When the FAHC was just starting out, they used to get their thrills from a good gang rumble, gun fight, and car chase. Now that they were at the top, their adrenaline fix came from their intricately planned heists, and the side-jobs taken by individual crew members in the meantime. He paused. “You said you had a business deal?” 

“Come work for us. We fund you; you keep doing what you’re doing.”

Geoff paused, scowling. “In exchange for what?” 

Burnie paused a moment, seeming to pick his next words carefully. “Rooster Co. is more than what it seems. We have a lot of moving pieces, plans, and projects all over the region. In exchange for executing some of the finer details of our projects, we would provide you with security to keep you as the top gang in Los Santos. A mutually beneficial relationship.” 

Geoff felt anger fill his mind, collecting himself before answering coolly. “I don’t take orders from anyone. My team doesn’t take orders from anyone but me. We’re already the best crew in LS and you can’t buy our loyalty by offering us what we already have.” 

“I’m not asking for an answer right now--” 

“The answer is no!” Geoff interrupted, which didn’t seem to phase Burnie. 

“I’ll send more details later. Think about it.” 

The phone line went dead, leaving Geoff fuming in a dark hallway. It wasn’t the first time a corporation had tried to buy their full loyalty. Geoff always drew the line at a single job, and even then, only when they agreed to it fully, no secrets. 

‘Can’t buy the Fakes,’ Geoff thought to himself, his anger calming down as his tiredness hit him for the umpteenth time. Plus, who did Burnie think he was, bringing something like that up at a time like this?

Geoff moped over to the elevator, pressing the up button to head back to the penthouse. It was nice to own this entire floor of offices, if only for this type of situation. 

He never slept well before a heist, and the last heist was no exception, especially since they had hit location early in the day. And here he was now, almost 24 hours later without sleep. If he caught a couple hours of rest now, he would be alert enough to hold a meeting once the sun rose. 

He hoped that wherever Trevor was, that he was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Please leave kudos and a comment, it keeps me writing-
> 
> I've been busy so upload schedule is all over the place. Promise I'm still working on this fic tho. 
> 
> And we're past all the set-up stuff now so get ready for the action to really start!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor's torture ramps up a little...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-torture, restraints, medical horror, hospital horror, blood mention, cuts mention
> 
> ~.~ sorry Trevor!

Trevor had just managed to drift into a light and uncomfortable sleep after hours of silent painful minutes when the door banged open with a vengeance. A whole crowd of people filed in, different from the mercs from before. Most of them were wearing hospital-style scrubs as if this wasn’t some sketchy warehouse basement. 

A middle-aged woman walked up to hit side, holding a syringe with some kind of clear liquid, and before he could even open his mouth to say anything, she stuck the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger. 

The spot in his arm burned as she stepped away, and he watched the crew in the room nervously as they rolled in a metal box. It took a moment as they unlocked hinges and swung the stainless steel around to realize it was a collapsible table, the same size as the medical cot Geoff kept in the penthouse. 

The crew was painstakingly screwing the legs of the table on, and the same lady who had injected him was spraying strong-smelling disinfectant around the room when Trevor’s vision started wobbling and his extremities started buzzing. They had drugged him. 

Trevor’s head was suddenly too heavy, and he rested it on the back of the chair, which was now surprisingly comfortable. His pain receded, and he drew in a calm breath before he lost consciousness. 

+++++

When he came to, Trevor couldn’t feel his body, his mind still woozy. He looked around lazily, sleepily. He noticed first that he wasn’t in the chair anymore. Then that he couldn’t raise his head. There was some kind of soft pressure across his forehead. Though in his drugged state he couldn’t figure out what it was. 

A couple minutes passed as the drug haze slowly cleared from his mind. There were people walking around him like shadows. He slowly realized that there was some kind of a thin sheet covering him, only realizing after a moment of feeling the sheet all across his body that his clothes were gone. 

His head was full of cotton, and his eyes felt like sand. He tried to raise a hand to wipe his face only to realize there were restraints on his wrists, straps of leather buckled into place. His neck strained against the restraint across his head as he looked down at himself.   
Three was an IV in his left arm. There was another needle in his right arm, a line filled with his blood trailing over the side of the bed. His ankles were also restrained, his bare feet poking out from the end of the sheet. 

With the drugs still in his system, his thoughts were muddled, and Trevor knew his adrenaline wasn’t pumping as much as it should. Memories from the past couple days flooded back through the haze: the heist, his capture, the beating from the mercs, the sergeant pig leader…

He registered the chill next, thankful for the sheet as the steel table beneath him radiated cold into his body. Time passed both slowly and quickly, as only drugged time can pass. The blood line was disconnected, and another hanging bag was connected to him, though it didn’t look like saline. It was only when one of the figures bumped the rack that he able to read “glucose” on the bag. He should have paid more attention to Geoff and Lindsay and Caleb’s medical trainings; maybe then he would know what it meant. 

His head was getting clearer, the weight slowly disappearing from his limbs. The faces passing by him were no longer blurs, but they were wearing medical hair caps and masks, so he couldn’t see any of their features. They seemed to be in the same room as before, the cabinets on the wall full of torture implements were still opened off to the side. The lightbulb on the ceiling left spots in Trevor’s vision but after a little while it was turned off and a bigger, medical-looking light was wheeled to the side of the table, blaring a whiter and brighter light onto the sheet covering him. 

With the drugs fading Trevor felt his nervousness starting back up deep inside him. The room now smelled like a hospital: harsh, chemical, sterile. This setup wasn’t the almost-familiar torture style of the local gangs in LS; sure, it was in a concrete-lined basement room without windows, but the medical-style set-up seemed almost…professional. A lot of money had gone into this set-up, from the staff walking around him, to the table beneath him--hell, even the saline and glucose entering his body. It spoke of a group with money, one larger than the smaller gangs that had tried to attack the Fakes over the years. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since his capture, but he guessed roughly that it had been almost a day. He hoped his crew was on the way. A crew with money had access to interrogators on Vagabond’s level. Vagabond could make the strongest man break in a day or two. Trevor wasn’t sure he could hold out long under such torture, unlike the beating the mercs had given him before. 

The room around him stilled just as his head finally seemed clear of the drugged fluff feeling. There weren’t people walking around him anymore; instead they were waiting at the edges of the room. A conversation drifted through the relative silence, and Trevor looked up from his place at the table to see the door to the room was propped open, voices coming from that direction. 

“—drop everything for you, Nathaniel. You always give me the most interesting experiences.” 

“Well, I’m just sorry we had to haul you out of bed at such a godforsaken hour.” Gerard’s (Nathaniel’s?) voice cut through the air. 

“No, no!” the new voice protested, “You had me on call for a reason! I’m just happy to offer my services. You know I get so bored holed up on that horrible little island.” 

The pair swept into the room, Gerard/Nathaniel looking just as gruff as he had the night prior, followed by a stocky middle-aged man with white hair and wire-rimmed glasses. They ignored him as the two walked around the table. 

“We had your team go ahead and prepare for your arrival. If you need anything, just let me know.” 

The white-haired man looked mildly pleased, going immediately to a bucket full of what Trevor could only assume was water as the man started rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “It looks perfect, Nathaniel. I will be sure to tell the higher-ups of your continued devotion.” 

Nathaniel bowed his head, a couple strands of his greased hair swinging forward. “I assume you have been properly briefed on what we need from him, Doctor?” 

The white-haired doctor aggressively scrubbed at his hands and arms with a yellow soap. “Enough information on the Fake AH Crew for your sect to bring them down, Nathaniel. If I’m not mistaken, that is.” 

Nathaniel nodded his head again. “We want to move as quickly as possible. Please pass along anything you have as soon as you get it.” 

“You wish is my command,” the doctor laughed quietly while dunking his arms under water. 

Nathaniel/Gerard Butler-lookalike bowed slightly, awkwardly, before decidedly turning and leaving the room, as if the doctor made him nervous. The doctor held his wet arms in the air and turned to the room, where one of the nurses waited with a gown to place over his waiting arms. Another fastened a cap over his hair. 

“Good morning, Mr. Collins!” the man said, and Trevor almost jumped as the attention in the room turned to him. “My name is Dr. Rascher.” A mask was put over his face, leaving only his eyes shining down at Trevor from behind the glasses. “I’ll be getting some information from you today.” He chuckles as if he had said the most wonderful joke. “Is there anything you would like to say before we begin?” He waited a second. “No?” 

He turned to the nurse next to him. “Scalpel.” A scalpel was handed to him. Rascher turned his eyes back to Trevor’s. “Now, as we begin, some ground rules.” A nurse pulled the sheet back, exposing Trevor’s chest. “If you want the pain to stop, all you need to do is tell us something about the Fakes, anything at all. We have my lovely assistant over here with a dose of morphine, ready to relieve your pain.” 

The doctor leaned forward with no preamble and dug the scalpel into Trevor’s chest at the top of his peck, drawing a long cut which immediately welled with blood. Trevor ground his teeth against the groan trying to escape him, the strap across his head not permitting him to look down as the wound. 

Rascher spoke again, seeming to admire his work. “There will be no dying on my table, no escaping that way from my ministrations.” He paused, his pupils seeming to swallow his irises. “Let us begin, shall we?” 

Trevor steeled himself for the next cut, which came cutting across his stomach. He could feel the warm run of blood from the first cut running into his armpit. The pain sparked and rolled, making his stomach twist and his gut clench. He couldn’t stop his fists at his sides from pulling against the restraints. 

The third cut was just as bad, running across his left hip. An unbidden tear slipped from Trevor’s eye as he groaned. 

Doctor Rascher sighed contentedly. “I always love breaking the strong ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -please leave kudos and a comment, they keep me writing-
> 
> -trying to get ahead in this story a little so I have a more steady upload schedule but I've always been a slow writer and this story is no exception...-
> 
> -I keep trying to come up with a better summary for this story but I've always been bad at that. suggestions?-


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fakes meet to share information, Gavin wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-injury, medication

Jeremy slid into the passenger seat of Fiona’s car outside the club, shooting a quick wave to his contact who disappeared back into the building. Fiona smirked at him and gestured at his face. “You have a little something there.” 

Jeremy hummed, turning the rearview mirror so he could wipe off the lipstick mark on his cheek. Fiona put the car in drive, pulling away from Jeremy’s old employer. “Geoff called a meeting. He promised he wouldn’t postpone it this time. We have to make a stop on the way. Gavin’s woke up and wants to be at the meeting so we will pick him and Lindsay up.”

“Gav’s awake?” Jeremy asked, relieved? “Wait, shouldn’t he be resting?” 

Fiona shrugged. “I know I haven’t been around super long, but I’ve never known the Golden Boy to sit still.” 

The club wasn’t far from the beach safehouse and soon they were pulling up front, and Fiona honked. The front door opened, and Lindsay appeared, pushing Gavin in a wheelchair. As they approached, Jeremy got out of the passenger’s side, opening the back door. 

“Such a gentleman, Jer!” Gavin quipped. His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t look well. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face and his eyes looked glassy. Jeremy could see the lump of bandages around his middle through his shirt. 

Jeremy couldn’t think of what to say, watching silently as Lindsay helped their injured crewmate into the car before folding the wheelchair to store in the trunk. Jeremy shut Gav’s door and got back in the car, glancing back to see Lindsay slam the trunk and Gavin wince, gently holding his side as the car gave a slight bounce. Lindsay got in next to Gav, holding out a pill and a bottle of water which Gavin took gratefully. 

Fiona pulled away from the safehouse, heading for the penthouse downtown. For once she actually drove carefully, following the speed limits and slowing for each turn. 

After a minute Gav spoke up. “So, what’s been happening? Catch me up. Do we know where Treyco’s at yet?” 

Jeremy shrugged, his frustration showing a bit. “They’re ghosts, Gav. We still don’t know who attacked you, and it’s like they disappeared. Geoff called the meeting so we could put all our findings together. He would have called it for this morning, but Ry was busy following a lead he was hopeful about and Jack convinced him a little more time would mean more information in the meeting. Come up with a plan of attack and all that.”

Gav was quiet for a minute, staring out the window at the city they knew so well. They were almost at the penthouse before he spoke. “I hope Treyco’s okay.”

“We’ll find him, Gav,” Lindsay reassured him, her tone much more solemn than her usual humorous one. 

The parked in the garage as usual, Lindsay helping Gavin out of the back and once again into the wheelchair. Gavin didn’t complain, but he didn’t look any of them in the eyes as he was wheeled toward the elevator. Jeremy sighed to himself, concerned, though he tried not to show it. None of them liked being injured and fussed over; any one of them were much more used to waving off concern for an injury and continuing as usual. The fact that Gavin wasn’t trying to save face by trying to walk by himself just proved how much he was hurting. 

The elevator ride was silent save for the smooth “ding” from the elevator when they finally arrived at the penthouse 

Geoff and Jack were at the bar next to the kitchen, talking quietly. Ryan was over in the corner, the strap of the Vagabond mask visible as he stared out at the skyline. Fredo had pretty obviously fallen asleep on the couch, waking only when Fiona shook his shoulder and moved his feet so she could sit down. 

Geoff noticed Gavin, turning away from his conversation with Jack. “Gavin, you didn’t have to be here. You should be resting.” 

“Like shit, Geoff.” Gavin responded, but Geoff just sighed and seemed to drop the issue. 

“Jeremy, can you go grab Matt and Michael? They should be in Gav’s office.” 

“Sure, Geoff.” Jeremy responded, going a couple doors down the hall and knocking. 

A faint “come in!” sounded and Jeremy opened the door to reveal the familiar array of screens across the wall surrounding the center desk and the familiar mess the Brit tended to create. 

“Geoff said to come get you two,” Jeremy announced. 

Matt was rummaging through a box while Michael held a laptop with a bunch of cables balanced on top of it. “Gavin has to have an HDMI cord, right?” Matt muttered, glancing at Jeremy. 

“Uh, you could ask him,” Jeremy suggested. “We just got here.” 

“He’s here?” Michael asked with surprise. He pushed past Jeremy, exiting the room, and a couple second later they could hear Michael shout “My boi!” out in the main room. 

Jeremy knelt down next to the box Matt was rifling through, trying to make sense of the unorganized mess of cables. “Aha!” Matt announced, pulling one side of a cable out. The other end snagged in the mess and Jeremy set to work undoing the knotted cables. 

They were silent as they worked to free the mess of wrapped cables. After a moment Matt sighed but didn’t say anything. The two of them had known Trevor the longest, meeting well before any of them got involved with the Fakes. In fact, when Jeremy and Matt were recruited, they had strongly pressed for Trevor to be accepted into the crew as well. Trevor had immediately been a natural at this life, easily falling into the leading position of the B-team. Life in the crew was way better than the work any of them had been forced into prior, but this work had risks. 

Jeremy pulled the other end of the HDMI cable from the binds of the box, handing it to Matt, before standing and leaving the room, his friend following close behind. 

It didn’t take long for them to connect the laptop to the screen in the lounge and soon Geoff had a map of Los Santos up with an ‘X’ on the location of Trevor’s kidnapping. Gav was typing away at his own computer he had pulled from somewhere and the crew gathered around. 

“Okay,” Geoff started. “I want to go around and accumulate findings, share, etc. Starting with Jack.” 

Jack shrugged. “Not a lot to share. None of our allies seem to know anything about it. Most of them didn’t even know we had a heist going on.” 

Geoff nodded. “I’ve talked to all my contacts as well and all I got was that a group of mercenaries came through a couple days ago, but I haven’t been able to follow that lead yet. Plus, no way to know who would have hired them. It’s hard to think of why a group of mercs would come after us without someone higher pulling the strings.” 

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Uh, I heard that group actually left the area late yesterday. A whole bunch of them ended up at Steffie’s club spending big bills. One of her dancers heard them reference the Dos Lagos area up north of San Andreas as their next stop. I’m not sure if they’ve cleared out yet.”

The group seemed to brighten a little. It seemed like they had a lead, and the morale boost was definitely needed. 

“Ok, good!” Geoff affirmed for the group. “Vagabond?” 

Ryan shrugged, expressionless behind the Vagabond’s signature skull mask. He shifted, crossing his arms. “The workhouses next to the alley are technically abandoned. They’re on our terf but a smaller gang has been using one of them for small-time drug drops. None of them were there during the shootout; they didn’t know anything. A local businessman was using the other as an illegal workhouse for immigrants. He isn’t anymore. He didn’t know anything either; I checked … thoroughly.”

Jeremy stifled his wince. Ryan’s voice was almost hoarse, as if he had been yelling. He was holding himself back, too, as if creating a barrier between him and the rest of the crew. From the stories, that was how he had been after first joining the crew, before really relaxing and settling in. Jeremy made a mental note to try to check in with him later. 

Michael leaned forward from his place on the couch when it was his turn to speak. “None of the shopkeepers from the area knew anything. A couple of them mentioned hearing the gunfire, but its LS. They couldn’t tell me shit.” 

Fredo nodded. “I got nothing.” He sounded dejected, as if his lack of information was alone cause for culpability. 

Fiona was uncharacteristically quiet as she nodded. “Same here.” 

Lindsay spoke up from next to Gavin: “One of my contacts heard about the mercs coming into town, but nothing new.”

Matt typed a little on the computer, pulling up a couple camera feeds. “There aren’t any cameras at the alley, but the couple nearby didn’t seem to catch anything unusual. A couple cars and trucks passed by, but nothing big enough to hold that many mercs. They could have been holed up somewhere we can’t see with these angles though. I couldn’t see how they left either.” 

“So,” Geoff grumbled. “A group of smart mercs. Let’s follow this lead and see where it leads us.”

The crew all nodded and separately formed teams amongst themselves. Lindsay was chatting with Michael to the side while Matt was looking over Gav’s shoulder as he typed. Fredo stood up and was stretching slowly. 

Jeremy headed over to stand next to Ryan who was again looking out the window. Jeremy gently leaned into the gent, joining him in admiring the skyline. “Team Battle Buddies? What do you think? I’m ready to go beat up some mercs.” 

Jeremy felt Ryan lean back into him, his version of assent. They stood there for a moment, each gleaning comfort from the other before heading back out in search of their missing crewmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long since I've updated. Current events are stressing me out and giving me major writer's block. I have half the next chapter done already though. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DARK...like breaking Trevor dark(see tags). The team starts seeing the repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-torture (very descriptive, painful, visceral)  
> You have been warned. This was painful for me to write (I am so sorry)

Trevor couldn’t stop the screams anymore, the inside of his cheek was already bloody with trying to hold them back. His body pulsed with adrenaline and pain, the latter concentrated as Rascher’s fingers prodded deeper into a recent cut just under his left peck. The screams ripped out of his throat as he tried to buck away from Rascher’s hand. The pain was like an animal, a rabid animal with sharp teeth tearing flesh, sinew, and muscle away from his chest, sticking inch-long claws deep into his body. 

The doctor was sweating under his gear, his face shiny and his eyes alight with some feral emotion. “How about it, Mr. Collins? You have something to tell me?” Rascher slipped a second finger into the cut, using his snake-like fingers to separate the layers of fat, sinew and connective tissue in Trevor’s chest, pushing steadily under his peck muscle. Trevor’s neck muscles pulsed painfully as again he bucked against the restraint around his head. 

Blood covered the ‘doctor’ with spots over his apron and his hands stained up to his wrists. Trevor gasped in the foul-smelling air, trying desperately to get some relief from the ravaging pain that just wouldn’t come. A nurse next to him moved to replace the blood transfusion bag and Trevor absently wished they would just let him bleed out already. 

Rascher twisted his hand, brutally lifting and tearing both muscle and skin away from ribs. Screams ripped themselves from Trevor’s throat as he pulled uselessly against the restraints. For a moment Trevor felt like he was watching from a third person perspective, forgetting who’s screams filled the room, but then he was back in his body. Pain snapped up and down his limbs with no recourse, sweat streaming off his lathered body as Rascher leaned over him further. 

Nausea from the pain swirled, mixed confusingly with claustrophobia and fear. The pain from Rascher’s hand in his chest felt like it was strangling him, as if his pain-inducing fingers were long enough to reach into his lungs. 

The pain had reached a point where it was all Trevor could think about, all-consuming, ravaging, animalistic, fatalistic. Death would be a sweet release, but Trevor knew the monster torturing him wouldn’t let him escape that easy. He gasped, trying to hold on longer as Rascher worked steadily on ripping the muscle up from Trevor’s ribs.

It seemed like time was slowing down, each painful second stretched into a million parts, pulling Trevor along at a snail’s pace in order to make the torture last even longer. The pain built up and up and up and up, cresting like waves in a too-deep ocean until Trevor couldn’t think of anything other than a way of escape. 

“S---st-top! Aaaawcccshugh, plEASE! Stop!” The words forced themselves out of Trevor’s throat without filter, interrupted by more screams. 

Rascher leaned back and pulled his hand out suddenly. Some modicum of pain lessened enough for Trevor to catch his breath, wheezing with the lingering pain. The doctor chuckled, his gloved hand dripping blood down onto his victim. 

“Do you have something you would like to tell me?” 

Trevor paused, cursing himself for being weak. “Nothing?” Rascher smirked, reaching his hand to slip back into Trevor’s chest and Trevor’s pain spiked up again, another scream dragged from his body. 

“Wait! AchHHk! NO!” Trevor hacked and choked, unable to breathe in air for a moment, the pain all-encompassing. “I’ll talk!” He managed, whimpering unintentionally as Rascher again removed his hand to a place where Trevor could see it. “I’ll talk,” Trevor repeated, fearing the pain. Guilt pounded through him, but the searing pain had finally gotten the upper hand. 

“I’m listening,” Rascher said simply, his eyes icy as he stared down at him. 

And then Trevor was speaking, haltingly, but surely, spilling the secrets of the crew. The words squeezed out, betrayal coating him as Trevor shook on the blood-slick table. Every time he slowed to a stop, Rascher moved in, poking, or prodding, spiking the pain until Trevor continued. Secrets he had been sworn to keep broke out into the stark hospital lighting of the torture chamber. 

The pain still encompassed him, his chest heavy with it, his skin alight with the clawing of cuts or throbbing of bruising. He choked out words, hoping that Rascher would finally be satisfied, wishing for death to come. In the back of his mind he prayed for death. He wanted the pain to stop. Even more than that, he didn’t think he could face his crew again after breaking. Death would be a sweet retreat. 

***  
Gaving and Matt were typing furiously on their respective computers, eyes glued to the screens lighting their faces. Geoff was busy looking through information collected in the couple hours about the mercs. Gavin had managed to grab a screenshot from a low-res security camera outside Steffie’s club and they had managed to positively id a couple of the men. 

Jack’s phone rung and she jammed it up to her ear with a quick greeting. “What!? Okay, thanks.” She hung up just as quickly, turning to Geoff. “Tip-off from my contact at the station. There’s a bust going down on our warehouse by the shipping yard. It sounds like it’s full forces, and they’re already moving.” 

“What?!” Geoff startled, alarm clearly showing on his face. 

“If we can’t stop them, that’s going to be a hard loss,” Matt commented, similar concern showing from behind his glasses. “W-we set up a perfect cover. There’s no way they figured it out!” 

“Uh-oh.” Gav commented quietly, pausing in his finger dash across the keyboard. “There’s a full hit out me! On--on all of us actually. E-even B-team.” Matt immediately started clicking, and there was a renewed flurry of typing. 

“We’ve been on most-wanted for a long time,” Geoff commented, typing something into his phone. 

“They have my full name!” Matt announced with concern. Geoff stopped in his typing, Jack turning to listen to updates. 

“Geoff, it’s not the most-wanted list! I-I mean it is on that list but it-its…there’s also hits out, like lethal hits, and bounty rewards.” Gavin stuttered as he typed, fumbling over words. “There’s Jeremy! Hit or bounty going for 10 thou. U-um, my hit’s also going for 10 thou. They h-have my full name Geoff. N-none of them knew--”

“They know Ryan’s the Vagabond!” Matt cut Gavin off. 

“Wot!” Gavin shrieked before crumpling slightly with pain. 

A series of phone pings went off throughout the room along with an update noise from Gav and Matt’s computers. “Our main bank account was just frozen!” Matt announced. 

“Forgot I programmed that alert into all the phones,” Gav muttered. 

“In all caps: Account frozen. Stop faffing about and check-in with King. Dollar emoji, snowflake emoji,” Jack read, raising an eyebrow at Gav who was too involved in what he was doing to acknowledge her teasing.   
“Why is it frozen?” Geoff asked. He was clearly trying to calm himself and take charge of the situation, but his eyes stayed full of his surprise and worry at these new developments. 

“Well that’s what I’m trying to see, now innit!” Gavin snapped. 

Geoff’s phone rang and he answered quickly upon seeing Jeremy’s id. “This is King.” 

Jeremy’s concerned voice was audible to the others in the room as Geoff listened. “The beach safehouse is on fire!” 

“Are you serious?” Geoff asked, the lines on his face growing deeper as his concern mounted. 

“We’re also being tailed, trying to lose them now!” Sounds of a motorcycle engine came faintly through the phone line. 

“Are you with Ry? There’s a hit out on both of you!” Jack called to the phone. Geoff sighed and put them on speaker so Jack could repeat herself for Jeremy to hear. 

“Shit!” Jeremy’s voice was muffled as if he was struggling to hold onto the phone. Shots could be heard. 

Matt grumbled, casting to the main screen of the living area a video feed of their safehouse in flames, before pulling up more footage which just managed to catch sight of the Vagabond’s recognizable bike followed by three unmarked cars. 

“Get somewhere safe and hunker down!” Geoff ordered just as the line disconnected. 

Jack’s phone was at her ear and she stalked a couple feet away, groaning when no one picked up. “My contact at the station won’t answer. He always answers.”

“What’s going on?” Matt asked, aiming the question at Geoff. Geoff didn’t have any answers. 

“We need to regroup, get everyone safe!” Geoff decided. “Matt, call the others, tell them to hunker down. We need everyone to go street-clothes until we have more information.” 

He glanced out the window as the room grew darker; the sun was hidden behind a wall of clouds approaching from the west like a big, dark, curtain. Geoff hoped it wasn’t foreshadowing. 

***

It took a long time for Trevor to say everything he knew. The Fakes had a lot of secrets, from their accounts and their safehouses to even the real names of their more reclusive members. Trevor was finally grateful Geoff had made them promise to all get secretive individual accounts separate from the main crew offshore accounts. He knew the info for the crew accounts and his own account full of heist profits, but he didn’t know enough about what the others chose to do with their money. 

Rascher spent a good deal of time trying to convince him he knew more but even the insufferable pain couldn’t put unknown information into Trevor’s head. When he finally was out of information to give up Trevor felt so drained and full of pain, he wished his body would just shut down already. 

Rascher, however, had a different idea. The scalpel was back in his hand and Trevor screamed weakly as Rascher cut into Trevor’s middle just underneath his belly button, the pain clawing him steadily like some kind of burrowing animal. Rascher spent an insufferable amount of time steadily cutting deeper until he placed the blade back to the side and moved forward with his hands to the new cut as if ready to rip Trevor in two. 

“I-I’ve told you everything!” Trevor managed to get out. “Just-Just kill me! K-kill m-me!” 

Rascher chuckled, shaking his head slightly before he plunged his hands into Trevor’s middle. Under the sounds of Trevor’s hoarse screaming Rascher muttered, “there’s no fun in that.” 

Trevor briefly saw Rascher’s hands reappear holding something that looked suspiciously like intestines before the attendant next to him injected something into his saline line and Trevor’s pain was replaced with a static so intrusive that he soon knew nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've stopped trying to rely on an update schedule since I can't keep them. When the inspiration strikes I write and that's all there is to it. Don't worry, I'll eventually finish this story I promise. 
> 
> Leave kudos and a comment.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great escape as the penthouse is raided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-impending police raid, past-injury pain and blood, escape drama (nothing too serious)

Geoff’s face was solemn as he jammed his phone back in his pocket. “Time to move! We’re about to get company!” He turned and quickly opened an unobtrusive safe set into the wall, grabbing the two packs that were hidden inside. 

“Wot?” Gavin gasped. 

“Police downstairs. We’re about to be raided.” Geoff’s voice was calm, but stress was evident in how professionally he handed off one of the packs to Jack and checked the safety on his gun. 

The screen on the wall shut down and Matt quickly stuffed both his and Gavin’s laptops into a go-bag stored under the couch. 

“How much time do we have?” Jack asked as she typed in the manual override for the elevator doors so they wouldn’t open. 

“Not enough!” Geoff called back, pulling the emergency switch at the back of their emergency safe. The lights overhead turned red and the sounds of doors and windows automatically locking filled the air. 

Gavin plopped himself in the wheelchair after struggling to pull it over to him, gritting his teeth as he wheeled himself out from around the couch. “What do we do?” He asked Geoff. 

“This way!” Geoff commanded, leading the group down the hall where the rooms were located, stopping at a hall closet where they stored some of their miscellaneous gear. Geoff fumbled along the wall for a second, behind one of the shelves before a click sounded and the shelf swung away, revealing a set of steep stairs that zig-zagged down. 

“How long has this been here?” Matt muttered, stuffing his gun into its holster before helping Gavin stand shakily. 

“Fire code requires stairs to every level. This is the staircase private to the penthouse. We just hid the entrance in case of emergency.” Jack’s voice was calm like Geoff’s, go-bag resting surely over her shoulders as she led the way through the hidden door, sliding sideways past the shelves and onto the steps. Matt followed, Gavin’s arm over his shoulder as they pushed through the tight space. 

Geoff closed the closet door behind them, then crouched down and rummaged through the clutter before pulling up a panel in the floor and pulling out a briefcase hidden below. When he squeezed past the shelf/door hybrid, he swung it closed behind him and it clicked shut with a sound confirming it had locked behind them. 

Jack led the way, gun out as they hurried down the narrow, steep stairway. The space was lit with the same emergency lights from the penthouse, lighting their way with red light just bright enough for them to see a couple paces in front of them. Geoff slung Gavin’s other arms over his shoulder and together he and Matt half-carried Gavin down the stairs. The Brit’s face was gray and clammy with pain, but he didn’t make a sound as they steadily climbed down hundreds and hundreds of steps. 

The seconds stretched into minutes, which stretched into an unknown amount of time and the stairs seemed never-ending before them. They couldn’t hear any noise other than the sound of their own labored breaths and the buzzing of the lights. 

The ringing of Geoff’s phone startled them all, and he quickly fished it out before pressing it to his ear. “Michael?” The group paused, Gavin sinking to the stair below him, clutching his side as they all caught their breath. 

“Ok, well at least you both got out of there. Either of you hurt?” Jack leaned against the wall on the landing below them, gun lowered at her side. They listened to the one side of Geoff’s conversation. 

“Good. Michael, I need you both to stay low, okay? Jeremy and Ryan were followed too.”  
“No, the Penthouse isn’t safe anymore. We’re getting out now.”  
“No, we’ll be fine. I need you to find the other teams out right now. Find a safe rendezvous that you haven’t used for years, something no one would know about, okay? I-I’ll follow-up with more information once we’re safe.”  
“Yeah, one more thing. All our aliases are burned. Ditch your car and tell the others to lose their rides as well.”  
“Because the LSPD knows all our cars! They know what we look like! You’ll have to find some ride to steal, nothing too flashy.”  
“Ok and tell the others too.”  
“Stay safe, Michael.”

Geoff hung up the phone and without speaking reached down to help Gavin back up. The group resumed their hurried stair descent. After what felt like years, they rounded the next platform to find a narrow hall in place of more stairs, a small unassuming door at the end. 

Jack again led the way, closing the distance to the door with renewed energy, and slowly turning the knob before whipping the door open and checking the bright outside world quickly to make sure they were safe. The natural light was shocking after their red-lit existence and they all squinted. 

Jack lowered her gun, speaking to someone just outside the door as Matt and Geoff dragged Gavin to their escape. The door let out into a little side alcove on the opposite side of the building from the main entrance. The man Jack was speaking to was slim, and recognizable as one of the staff at the front desk that checked people into the building. He handed keys over to Jack before quickly disappearing again around the corner. 

A beige minivan sat waiting in the alley next to them, the engine running, and side doors open. Geoff and Matt helped Gavin in quickly. Jack opened the trunk to throw in her go-bag, taking the briefcase and go-bag Geoff carried and tossing them in as well. Matt slid into the passenger seat while Geoff clambered in next to Gavin. Jack would drive. 

Clothes were waiting for them, and Matt stuffed his hair up into a beanie while Jack changed her traditional Hawaiian shirt for a loose blouse. In the back, Geoff threw his hat and suit jacked to the back, losing his tie as well. 

Gavin was gray with exhaustion and pain, the escape effort almost too much just a day after a major surgery. There was a small spot of blood on his shirt and Geoff leaned over to check the lad’s bandage. Jack pulled them out of the alley, driving unusually slowly and carefully to avoid detection from the many police cars that were pulled up around the block. They weren’t stopped as they turned left at the light, actually waved through by the officer directing traffic. Police were swarming the building already, even more cop cars arriving as their targets meekly drove past and away from their ransacked home. 

“You’ve popped a couple stitches, but you’ll be fine for right now.” Geoff’s voice was still calm and professional, as if they had just pulled of a heist instead of leaving their headquarters to the pigs. 

“Where to, boss?” Jack asked, voice equally as controlled. 

Geoff’s mask dropped as he swore quietly and rubbed his face. No one said anything. After a moment of silence, Geoff pulled out his phone, quickly dialing a number and holding it to his ear. 

“Burnie, hi. I need a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Please leave kudos and a comment (even if you're reading this in like two years, I still appreciate it)-


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fakes regroup with their new patron

The worn-down 98 Corolla that wheezed around the wide circle drive looked thoroughly out of place next to the immaculately trimmed hedges and lawn. 

Fredo whistled softly from the back seat. “Sheeit, you sure we’re in the right place?” The manor house in front of them sat domineering the landscape, dark windows and crafted stonework staring down at them. 

Michael absently parked the car in the middle of the drive, the brakes groaning as the car grunted into place and settled. 

“Dibs on the hot tub!” Lindsay quipped from the passenger’s seat. 

“Did Geoff beat us here?” Fiona asked as they walked up the front walk. 

They didn’t need an answer as the door swung open upon their approach to reveal the Kingpin himself, his usual suit jacket absent and hair mussed out of place. He gestured for them to follow him without a word and they were soon ushered into a comfortable sitting room with several couches and a gas fireplace. 

Vagabond stood hulking in the corner, while Jeremy, Matt and Jack looked up upon their arrival. Gavin lay on the far couch under a blanket, apparently asleep. A tray of fancy-looking sandwiches sat on the coffee table. 

“Ok, the fuck is going on?!” Michael demanded, breaking the silence immediately. 

A new voice crossed the space. “I’d like to know that as well.” Burnie leaned against the doorway, regarding the gaggle of criminals in the room with a kind of fondness. “You can stay as long as you need to, of course. Happy to host.” 

“Uh, have we met?” Fiona asked, giving an embarrassed half-chuckle. 

“Burnie Burns, everyone!” Geoff said, waving a hand at the gentleman. “This is his place.” 

“As in Rooster Co. Burnie Burns?” Fredo asked, eyes widening. 

“Your reputation precedes you,” Geoff said dryly as Burnie ducked his head with a chuckle. Geoff turned to his crew. “Burnie is allowing us to stay here while we sort our shit out. Things have obviously gone a little crazy.”

“You could say that again!” Michael scoffed. “What the hell happened to the penthouse!”

Geoff sighed, aware that all eyes were on him. It was times like these that being the King really wore on him. He stifled the urge to put his head in his hands or try to rub his headache away where it throbbed at his temples. 

“We’ve been burned, all of us. All our identities, aliases, safehouses, passwords…all of it.” He let silence hang in the air for a moment, but nobody spoke. “We’re still in the process of figuring out what we still have. We might have to build, um, f-from the ground up.” 

“You have my backing for as long as you need it,” Burnie said simply. 

“W-wait!” Fredo interrupted. “All…e-everything?? How did this happen?” 

The room shuffled uncomfortably. Jack’s quiet voice broke the silence. “They have Trevor, hun.” 

“But…but Trevor would never just give up all our info like that. Not Trevor. No way!” Fredo protested. 

Another uncomfortable silence pressed on them. “They tortured him,” Lindsay explained simply, her voice quiet and unusual solemn. The conclusion lapped around the room as each member’s fears were confirmed by the group understanding of their situation. 

Vagabond didn’t look away from his place glaring out the window as he spoke: “The timetable suggests they brought in a professional.”

“He might still be alive,” Jeremy said quietly. Vagabond grunted as if they had already had this argument. 

“For right now, we’ll proceed as if he is,” Geoff confirmed, “but our investigation is on pause until we make sure we are safe. We need to lay low for a bit, just enough to get our feet under us again. Whoever attacked us wants us out of the picture, so we’ll let them think they’ve won for a bit.” 

The room remained quiet as they all stewed in their current predicament. 

Burnie was the one who finally broke the silence. “I hope you’ll all find the rest you need here. The house staff can show you where you’ll be sleeping. Otherwise, you have free reign of the house, just maybe try not to break anything.” His joke fell on deaf ears, and after an awkward second, he gestured to the King. “Geoff, a word if I may.” 

Geoff followed their unexpected host out of the room while the rest of the crew milled about aimlessly. Michael sunk down on Gavin’s couch next to the Brit’s feet. The lad was still fast-asleep, deep circles under his eyes even with his face child-like in slumber. Lindsay sunk down next to him. 

Matt typed into a laptop; the low keyboard sounds the only noise in the room. Fiona was rubbing Fredo’s shoulder soothingly as he stared at the carpet with a stricken look. Jeremy picked mindlessly at one of the cutesy sandwiches. 

The monarchy of the FAHC was in pieces, their world crumbled into this strange existence of an unfamiliar living room and the unfamiliar anxiety of the future. 

\--

In the hall outside Burnie’s voice was quiet and respectful, something Geoff appreciated. “Geoff, I know it took a lot for you to ask for help. I, well, my whole organization respects the Fakes and we want to help you find out who did this.”

“Why?” Geoff asked simply, feeling very very tired. He still stared searchingly at Burns, suspicious of his motivations. 

Burnie sighed. “It’s entirely self-serving, really. I, well uh, the company thrives best when we know the players on the field. A move like this caught us off guard as well.”

Geoff nodded, relaxing a bit as he correctly interpreted the honesty of the answer. He felt himself trusting the man in front of him more. 

Burnie continued after a moment. “Geoff, I-I know you’ve had a really long day, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you at all. Uh, I was hoping you would reconsider the business proposition I had for you.” 

Geoff sighed, looking at the other man reproachfully, but without the anger he himself had expected. Burnie was a skilled negotiator after all, and his charisma mixed with the semi-embarrassed look on his face let the King drop his guard. 

“Burnie, I--”

“Wait! You don’t have to answer now!” Burnie interrupted. “Just…just let me show you some of the inner workings. No strings attached; I swear. Then if you still aren’t interested, no worries.” He held his hands up in a half shrug, searching Geoff’s face for an answer. 

Geoff sighed for what seemed the umpteenth time. This time he rubbed his hands over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he hissed between his teeth, but the word had no venom in it. 

Burnie clapped his hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “Excellent, you won’t regret it!” 

Burnie waived over a member of the staff to show Geoff to the spare rooms, instructing him to “Get some rest.” 

As if he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Please leave kudos and a comment~


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious note leads the crew to find Trevor's last known location...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW- loss, grief(heavy emotions), dried blood (ala crime scene)

The week that followed was slow and awful, time ticking by as if molasses has infused the inner workings of the grandfather clock in the study. The steady ticking of the second hand seemed to infuriate Michael the most, though Fredo could feel the ticking in the back of his mind even when he couldn’t possibly hear the clock. With every tick he felt like more of a failure, less and less able to save his best friend from what was surely hell. 

Geoff had forbidden them from leaving the premises and the Fakes had reluctantly complied. Gavin was sleeping a lot, and Jack had taken on the role of checking in with all the members and accumulating the data that they did have from their time out looking for Trevor. 

Geoff, true to his word, let Burnie show him behind the curtain of Rooster Co.; As he had suspected, the company wasn’t all it seemed, with most of their public operations a front for a whole world of underhanded and shadow business. Beyond the business side of things, there was a surprising, but not off-putting, philanthropic edge to the company. The mansion itself, while pretty on the outside, held a secret bunker that operated as a safehouse for the company’s “agents.” Burnie hadn’t showed him much, but Geoff found himself trusting the other man. 

At the end of the week, when Burnie called Geoff to his office, Geoff expected another spreadsheet, or presentation about the company. Instead he approached the study to find the other members of the crew milling about outside the heavy oak door.

“What are you doing?” Geoff asked the group. 

“Well Bernie called us all for a meeting, now, did’nee,” Gavin quietly quipped back, semi-hidden by the group where he sat on a chair. The color was coming back into his face, but deep lines remained under his eyes. 

“We were waiting for you,” Jack explained, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as she leaned over and rapped her knuckles on the door of Bernie’s office then gestured for Geoff to go first. A faint ‘come in’ sounded and Geoff led the way, pushing open the door and striding into the now-familiar space. 

“Oh, good, you’re all here!” Bernie looked up as they gathered themselves in front of his desk. Bernie’s brow was furrowed, and he looked concerned. “I figured you should all be present for this.”

Bernie reached into a drawer of his desk, pulling out a small package. He looked back up to see a chorus of questioning eyes and sighed. “We’ve been watching all your former territory. This was at one of your habitual dead-drop sites. It was delivered this morning, early. We don’t know by who.” 

Geoff took the package gingerly, turning so the group around him could see as he delicately pulled the tape away. ‘The FAHC’ was written in curly script, with nothing else. Burnie got up and ventured around his desk to join the crowd in watching the strange unwrapping. 

Geoff ripped into the package, something heavy and metal sliding smoothly into his hand. He stared at the watch in his hand for a second, face confused. 

Fredo sputtered. “That’s…that’s Trevor’s watch. We got the same one as…as a joke,” he said, holding out his wrist to show the same watch clasped there. 

Geoff handed the watch to Fredo gently, looking back into the package a moment before pulling out a small card. 

In the same curly font, a short note was written, and Geoff read it for the group: “I believe we took something of yours. Please proceed to the following location.” Below the message was an address in Los Santos. 

Burnie ran over to his computer, typing in the address as Geoff shared the note around the group. Looking around at the faces surrounding him Geoff saw all the stiff shoulders, tight mouths, and angry eyes. 

“Are they taunting us?” Lil J asked. Next to the shorter man the Vagabond stood with his signature mask, head tilted to the side. His eyes were piercing as he stared at Geoff and Geoff got the strange impression the eyes were begging him for something. 

“Well, we have to go there.” Jack’s voice was calm and collected, holding authority.

“What if it’s a trap?” Michael asked. 

“Since when have you cared about traps, Michael?” Fiona challenged. 

“Is that where Trevor is, do you think?” Gavin asked, his voice holding a terrible tinge of hope that burned Geoff’s chest. 

“The address is for a small office about fifteen minutes south of downtown.” Burnie informed them while also typing into his phone. “I’m sending in a scouting team now. They’ll let us know what they see from outside the building.” 

The room grew quiet and Geoff slowly realized they were all waiting for his decision. He had already made it but was still wrestling with the potential consequences. 

“Gear up,” he finally said. The room intensified with energy, the crew collectively turning to the door. “Wait!” Geoff said, stopping the movement. “I want everyone in Kevlar. I’m sure Bernie has enough in his garage with what I’ve seen of his weapons stockpile. We’re going but we need to be extra careful. Partner up and watch your six.” 

Geoff glanced at Gavin who was bracing himself against the nearest bookcase. The lad saw the look. “Geoff, I’m coming too!” 

“’Course you are!” Geoff quickly reassured, “you’re my partner.” The lad nodded back, a grateful smile covering his face. 

“I’m coming too,” Bernie said, following Geoff out of the office. “Your crew will need some wheels. My extra security team is going to meet us there as well. They can do a security border patrol while you guys check the place out. Better safe than sorry.” 

“Thank you,” Geoff said simply. Burnie nodded back. 

The drive was silent and Fredo clutched Trevor’s watch in his hand, heart pumping desperately against his ribs. Next to him Fiona kept double-checking the safety on her gun and wordlessly recounting her extra bullets with gentle taps of her hand against the pockets of her cargo pants. Ryan drove, steadily following the black SUV in front of them. Jeremy chewed on his knuckle in the passenger seat, checking every now and then that the car with Michael and Lindsay was still behind them. 

The train of cars bounced through a series of deep potholes into an abandoned parking lot. The offices they drove up to were drab two-story cement-block buildings with dark and narrow windows staring down at them. A team of Kevlar-wearing figures gestured for them to park.   
Fredo slipped Trevor’s watch into his pocket before joining the crew in leaping out of the car. He clutched his gun, ready to face whoever was inside. Burnie spoke to the team already there before joining the Fakes where they stood spread out and watchful in front of the main entrance to the main building. 

“No movement inside. I have people at all exits.” 

Geoff nodded before gesturing their group forward. The front doors were locked but Michael was ready with a quick charge. They took cover as the lock was blown open, then descended as a collective through the dusty opening into the darkness within. 

Lindsay punched a nearby switch and the entryway lit up with dim florescent lighting. They took stock of their surroundings. The carpeted entrance delved deeper into the building, and the far wall opposite held elevator doors. Two hallways branched out on either side and Geoff quickly gestured for the group to split up. 

Fredo, Matt, and Fiona split off to the right to check the first-floor hallway while Michael, Jack, and Lindsay checked the one opposite. Geoff and the others headed to the door marked stairs before disappearing from view. 

Fredo’s heart was beating fast but he kept his breathing cool and steady as he had learned to do through his sniper training. The hall was dark even with the lighting above. The doors along the hall were all unlocked, and they opened door after door, consistently revealing a small and dingy office with no one inside. 

“Clear!” Fredo called for the umpteenth time, hearing the same call echoed faintly from Michael over on the other side of the first floor. They had reached the end of the hall, quickly checking out the window of the side entrance where Bernie’s team stood patiently. 

They met back up in the lobby, the group of them heading to the stairs to check on the rest of their team. 

Fredo had just opened the door to the stairs when he came face-to-face with Jeremy. They both immediately lowered their guns upon seeing their teammate. 

“Second floor clear!” Jeremy updated them. 

“Nothing on First!” Fredo returned, seeing Geoff, Ryan and Gavin appear from the upper floor. 

“Basement it is,” Jack sighed. 

“Jack and Matt guard this floor,” Geoff ordered before leading the way down the stairs. 

The basement was dim and the halls were surprisingly wide compared with the upper floors. The cement floor echoed the sound of their footsteps as they entered the space. None of the rooms on this floor had doors, unconnected walls splitting the space with no apparent interest at organization. The building was too quiet, the sounds made by the crew filling up the air as if no other living being had ever been present. 

They split up again to venture into this weird maze, Fredo and Jeremy following the wall to the right. Gavin had paused to catch his breath at the bottom of the stairs, and Geoff covered him as the crew spread out. 

The walls were filthy, the markings evidence that this basement had held lots of people at one point or another. Fredo reasoned that they must have been moving lots of things around as well given the scuff marks. 

Echoes of “clear!” came from other members. 

A solitary door at the end of the wall caught Fredo’s eye and he immediately trained his gun on the spot. 

“Over here!” he called. Jeremy covered him as he tried the latch. Locked. 

Gavin and Geoff appeared behind them as Fredo reared back and kicked the door. The door shook and buckled slightly, springing open with the second kick. 

The odor of blood hit them like a wall. The smell wafted thick and metallic out of the dark opening. Jeremy flicked on a flashlight before finding a switch just inside the doorway. A single lightbulb flickered on. 

The room was empty save for a metal table in the center of the space. The table itself was covered with dried blood, a rough imprint where a body had lain roughly distinguishable. The floor was covered with dried pools of blood as well. 

Fredo felt his stomach clench, chills going down his back. On the far wall a piece of paper and what looked to be a bloody rag had been nailed into the wall. He felt frozen, gun clenched in his hands as the empty bloody room stared back at him. 

Gavin was gagging, backing away from the stench and holding onto the wall for support. Geoff stepped forward into the small room, gingerly holstering his gun and stepping around the table. Fredo followed, slowly. Vagabond was also suddenly there, looking down at the bloody table with his skull mask as if he could discern anything from the mess. 

Geoff ripped the paper away from the wall, quickly skimming the paper. Fredo felt comforted by the presence of the crew as more members crept into the space. 

“Th-that’s a lot…of blood.” Fiona said quietly, breaking the relative silence.   
Geoff cleared his throat, face expressionless as he held the paper and glanced up at his crew. He cleared his throat again before reading aloud. 

“This message is for the Fake AH Crew.   
How does it feel to watch your empire fall? Years of work gone in the blink of an eye. Karma has finally caught up with the Fakes.   
You man was so very helpful, although he did take quite a bit of persuasion. You should be proud; his loyalty was almost commendable. We brought in the best to dig   
out his secrets.  
I’m sure it will pain you to know he died screaming.  
I’ll make you a deal. Dissolve the Fakes now and leave Los Santos. Do this and we will leave you alone to rebuild elsewhere. Do this and I will tell you where we   
dumped the body.   
Don’t test me or my patience. You have 48 hours.”

Fredo felt his chest seize up and he was suddenly nauseous, swallowing dryly. He couldn’t get a full breath anymore. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what, a denial of the letter scrambled on his lips as he struggled silently to breathe. 

Matt and Jack arrived at the doorway, and Jeremy shook his head at them, his eyes dark and sad. There was a silent moment where they all stood there, taking in reality. Vagabond seethed at the table, big breaths apparent only through his shoulders moving. Fiona started silently crying. 

Fredo could hear the heavy *thump* *thump* of his heartbeat in his head, relentlessly beating the moments by. Michael left the room abruptly and the relative silence of the room was broken by the muffled sounds of him yelling. Lindsay followed him, but from the sounds of it, she didn’t try to stop his rampage. 

Fredo still couldn’t breathe, his body cold for some reason. It was like he was looking at the room from a third person perspective, as if he were the character in a video game. “But…” The word escaped him, but Fredo wasn’t sure what he had been trying to say. Jack was comforting Fiona and it seemed as though Matt had left again. Geoff was carefully walking to the door again, but it seemed like he couldn’t see any one of them as his eyes never left the note in his hand. Jeremy was next to Ryan, who’s shoulders slumped as his crewmate put his hand on his arm.   
Fredo’s eyes itched with tears which he pushed back. Jack was glancing at him with too much sympathy and he was able to turn away, muttering “I-I’ll just be…uh” before leaving the room. 

The scent of blood faded behind him and the building was too oppressive now, too unknown. There were shadows everywhere in the basement, Michael’s hoarse cursing echoing through the disorganized halls. He made a wrong turn somewhere; he had been trying to get to the stairs, to be able to get back to freedom and fresh air, but yet another row of cubicles sat against the wall and he was sure this was the wrong way and it was all too, too much. 

The tears came, cramping his chest with rolling soundless sobs as he dropped into the nearest corner, holding his head in his hands. The gun he hadn’t realized he was still carrying was discarded next to him as the current situation wracked his body. Fredo fished Trevor’s watch from his pocket, holding onto the last piece he had of his best mate as if his life depended on it, while he mourned wordlessly into the darkness. 

****

Trevor woke from the pain throughout his body, sluggishly trying to open his eyes against the weight of drugged sleep holding him down. Bright light pierced through his eyelids and he must have made some kind of noise because there was a figure above him speaking words he couldn’t make out. 

Confusion flickered through his weak consciousness; he should be dead. Why wasn’t he dead?

As Trevor struggled with organizing his thoughts, his pain slowly abated, and soon he was back to the dark and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Please leave kudos and a comment~
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long. Work has been busy lately and I have been juggling things getting ready for school. Not sure when I'll be able to post next but please know I haven't abandoned this story, I'm just a slow writer with a busy life.


	13. Chapter 13

Trevor slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the small cot where his feet could meet the concrete floor. The effort to move meant he was shaking, his muscles quaking and protesting. The now-familiar pain pulsed like a living animal through his chest but Trevor gritted his teeth and pushed through. 

Once seated, he slowly and carefully stretched, rolling his shoulders, and reaching his hands down to his feet. The stitches across his chest and stomach were uncomfortable, pulling, stinging, and itching. His back ached from days of laying in the bed without moving. 

He didn’t know how long he had been in this cage, or drugged up on the small cot. Long enough to lose his muscle mass, and long enough for his wounds to heal a bit. There weren’t any windows to track the days here, and the low light from the room beyond the bars never switched off. 

Trevor stretched his right arm to the left, gently stretching his back, then repeated with his left. His thoughts were still coming slowly, as if the time spent drugged and sleeping had dulled his mind. There was a drain in the corner of the cell, the spigot above slowly dripping water. Trevor realized he was parched, his mouth dry and his lips cracked. Pushing himself to stand, his legs suddenly buckled, and he fell to the floor, barely managing to catch himself. His muscles and stitches complained roughly. 

The faucet was a short crawl away, and Trevor gratefully drank. He leaned back against the cold wall of the cell as fatigue hit him. He was too tired to think much of anything as he drifted into a fitful doze. 

***

The cell was small, and Trevor realized as time passed that there were other cells on either side of him. There was a grouchy lady who came with food what he presumed was once a day. She would walk slowly from one side of the long room to the other, stopping every ten feet or so to hand food through the bars. She never smiled, but the gas station sandwiches were always fresh. Trevor wondered how she came to be here. 

The other occupants of this prison would sometime talk to each other, voices of men and women speaking softly sometimes waking him. 

No one stayed long. Groups of uniformed guard would come through every other day or so to move the others somewhere else, returning with new individuals. The guards were cruel, sneering and pushing at each group that came through. From what Trevor could see from his limited vantage point, his prison-mates were all beaten into submission; they seemed to follow the directions issued by the guards. At least, none of them fought back when hauled around. 

The guards never tried to move Trevor, though he caught them looking at him several times. 

***

The nightmares were the worst. Trevor could deal with the almost intolerable itching of the stitches or the stinging of alcohol wipes when the nurse came to check on him, but the fitful sleep stretched time into a never-ending loop of fatigue and pain. 

It was hard to leave the small cot, even when the food came around. His limbs seemed to weigh heavily, and his mind was sluggish. Making the slow effort to stretch every day, to get up and make sure he could still walk the short length of his cell seemed an almost monumental task. 

Truthfully, Trevor didn’t know why he was still alive. 

He had told them everything after all. After he would rather die than feel another minute alive. And he had accepted death. A death which never came. In a way, his whole world felt unreal. As if maybe he had died on that table and now, he was just some kind of suffering ghost locked away in a cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See I told you I won't let this story die. Sorry for the wait. 
> 
> ~Please leave kudos and a comment (they keep me writing!)


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